Sweet Escape
by mskiki
Summary: An escape from Woodbury leads to a night of comfort. Andrea/Milton, AU to season 3 episode 16. Contains sexual content.


They escaped together, fire at their heels as they ran into the crisp night and away from the little town of horrors. They took the long route to the prison, circling wide around Woodbury and zigzagging through the wood. Andrea did not want a repeat performance of the night that stuck her in that chair. Neither did Milton. And so they ran. At least they were together.

They tried to avoid walkers in the trees, as their only weapon was a dull pocket knife. They kept their footfalls silent and their ears open. But luck had always been hit and miss for them both. As Andrea crept around a rock formation to scout the path ahead, Milton stayed crouched against it. The moment she cleared the stones, she heard a crunching noise from her right and pivoted to watch a walker stumble from the tree line. Horrified, she watched it rush Milton in a flurry of clawing arms and gnashing teeth. She sprang at them, leaping the rocks and onto the creature. She slammed a knife into the back of the skull, using her weight to sink the blade in deep. She repeated the action twice more, before pushing the walker to the side and grabbing at the man underneath.

Milton was covered in gore and gasping like a fish out of water. His shirt was soaked in blackened blood. It was difficult to tell in the shadows of the night if it was from the walker or him. Andrea went cold.

"Did it get you?" she hissed, jerking him to his feet.

"I-I, it was close and I, uh," he sputtered and clutched at his shirt.

"Did it get you?" Andrea repeated, shaking him. Milton's eyes were alight with fear and uncertainty.

"I don't think so."

It wasn't good enough, not when she could see how he winced and limped as he tried to put space between them. Andrea whirled, fisting one hand into the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him with her. She took off at a haphazard pace through the trees, dragging him behind her. She needed to find him somewhere safe. Somewhere they could take the time to check him and be sure.

It took nearly ten minutes for her to find some place suitable. An old hunter's shack sat off a ways from the road, half a dozen bodies of walkers littered the front lawn. She checked each before charging in to see the interior. There wasn't much to go through; it was a dingy two room place with nothing living or resurrected inside. There was a dead dog lying near the back, filling the air with decay, and she pushed it out the door before waving in Milton.

Andrea pointed him to the second room, a tiny bathroom with the only mirror she could find in the dark. After hearing watching him shuffle past, she set to work around the shack. She pushed the dresser against the front door and stuck a chair against the doorjamb of the back. Then she searched through the general chaos of the shack for a flashlight. All she could find was an old lantern and the remains of a crumbled matchbook. The place looked even more discouraging in the dancing light and she spared only a cursory glance around the room before crossing to the bathroom. The door had not been fully shut; the wood was too warped to allow that. Andrea stuck her hand in the crack and with a deep breath, pulled the door open.

In the moments before he noticed her presence, Andrea got an eyeful of Milton Mamet. He was standing in front of the sink, naked except for his rolled down socks. A quick glance to the floor told her that he went commando for their escape. A glance back up showed her the black ink curling against his right shoulder.

"Andrea!" Milton squealed. He craned his neck around to look at her, keeping his front out of her view. For a moment she was caught up in the way he looked, bare and glancing over his shoulder at her, but then she saw the bloody rag in his hand. It sobered her. She held the lantern out between them, motioning to the blood on the cloth and in the sink.

"Are you bit?" Andrea's voice wavered.

There was a long stretch of tense silence.

"No."

Andrea let the relief blanket her. She smiled at him through the mirror and stepped closer with the lantern. Her smile grew as he tensed and pressed closer to the sink. She nearly laughed. "I'm just going to leave this here, so you can see."

"Right."

She set the lantern down on the toilet lid, shoulder brushing against his bare one. She stared at him out of the corner of her eye, soaking in the pale skin and soft body and that tempting art along his back. Abruptly she stepped back to the doorway, eyes never leaving him as she stood there.

"Could you at least leave me alone to clean up and re-dress?" Milton asked after watching her warily for several moments.

"Are you embarrassed? Do I need to remind you how I looked when you found me?" she countered, smile turning rueful.

"It's not the same thing," he protested, but the bite had left his eyes. It was a bit of a dirty trick, bringing that up.

Andrea shrugged, still staring at his shoulders. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the type for a tattoo."

"I'm full of surprises," he replied dryly. It made her grin broaden.

"May I?" Andrea asked as she came forward. He watched her for several moments, tense and expression like that of a frightened rabbit, before he nodded.

She traced her forefinger against the spine of the dragon, watching the muscles of his shoulder twitch under her hand in fascination that was more suited to him and his studies. When she reached the creature's head, she scratched her nail lightly against the fire spewing from its mouth and tapped twice. Milton turned his chin to her, face apprehensive. She smiled in response, splaying her hand out against the tattoo. Her palm rested warmly against the length of the monster, her fingers curled around the curve of his shoulder and she used the leverage to pull him back into her chest. He was still twitching, making odd little movements filled with uncertainty that warmed her. He seemed uncomfortable in his bare skin and it was so unlike anyone else with whom she had shared a bed. She was used to men who wore their nakedness with confidence, who exuded sexual prowess and who took her in with their experience. Milton's wracked nerves and flushed face brought back memories of teenage fumbling in the backseat of her father's car and kisses stolen behind bleachers at football games. It made her feel young and alive and excited. It made her chest warm and her stomach tingle. And she wanted to make him feel that too.

"Stay still," she demanded, "I want to do this right."

She kissed along the back of his neck to his shoulder blade, dipping down to place her lips against the center of the tattoo.

She smoothed her palm down his back, bumping the pads of her fingers against the slight protrusions of his spine, taking a detour to touch an errant freckle, and finally landing her hand against the round of bottom. She heard the sharpness of his breath as she laid her hand against him there and she smiled. She squeezed against his skin, not so rough to hurt or frighten, but hard enough to elicit a raspy, surprised noise from her partner. In delight she squeezed again, letting her short nails scrap against the crease where the cheek met thigh and she sighed at the low moan that rumbled from Milton's throat.

With her mouth pressed against the side of his neck, she moved her hand from his backside to the front. She tickled softly against the dip of his hip and at his soft sigh, moved through into the sparse hair of his groin and grasped him solidly in her palm. She ran one finger across the tip slowly.

He gasped, going rigid in her hold and leaning forward to grasp the edge of the sink. "Andrea, you don't…"

She shushed him with a twist of her wrist grinning against his sweaty skin as he gasped again. She patted one cheek with her other hand before raising it to wrap her free arm around his waist. "I want to," she whispered and she stroked him until the protest had left him.

She pressed open mouthed kisses against his tattoo as she worked, licking the sweat that had gathered against his shoulder there. Again and again he gasped and groaned, making the warmth rise into a searing heat. It consumed her; this power, fire, and relief that he was okay. They were okay. They were free and relatively safe and for tonight they had each other.

Later that night, when he had regained a steady breath and they lay side by side under the comforter, she let him return the favor. The look of such intense concentration on his face as he moved his hands against her, studying every sound she made and every look that passed her face, made that warmth settle back over her being. Things would be okay. They were together.


End file.
